Ranger of Ithilien
by Starlight10
Summary: A tale about the doings of the Steward's heirs during the time of the War of the Ring. Please, read and review!


Disclaimer: I do not own anything created by Tolkien; however, I have been inspired by his creations and will borrow some of his characters for a little while.  
  
This story is set in the land of Gondor. It starts at about 3017 TA, when Gandalf travels to Minas Tirith to find out more about Isildur and the One Ring. Bilbo has already left the Shire, and Gandalf is still uncertain about the true identity of Frodo's ring. By this time, Boromir is Captain of the White Tower, and his brother, Faramir, was Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien. This story will dwell mainly on the incidents that happened on this land when the tidings of the One Ring were heard once more, and the involvement of the men of Minas Tirith and Gondor, especially the Steward's family, in the destruction of evil from Middle Earth.   
  
  
CHAPTER 1: OF PIPE-WEED AND SMOKE  
  
-"Blow the horn!"  
  
-"Blow the horn! The White City is in sight!"  
  
The company of rangers advanced swiftly across the plain. The sounds of galloping horses echoed in the air like a thunderstorm, carrying unspoken yet unmistakable tidings to the ears who heard them. The morning air was fresh and fragrant, and the hissing wind played around the earth like an amused child. The mists of the night had arisen and now, getting closer, was seen a wall of stone.   
  
In the distance another horn was heard, and the clear and vibrant sounds revived the hearts of the travelers, and hurrying their steeds, they set forth towards the great wall. As the rangers approached the door, the sounds of hurried labor could be distinguished, but the clinking of metal and beating of hammers and nails slowly ceased to give way to a deep silence.  
  
-"We have heard the call of the horn. Who goes? Friend or foe? Speak your peace!" -a grave, strong voice spoke from the rampart, -"Who makes his way through the plain, and into the Seven Gates?"  
  
-"Friends of the Steward, and Sons of Gondor!" -cried one of the men in front of the company, -"May the White Tower remain forever!" -and this exclamation was followed by an outburst of cries and yells from both parties. The rangers were coming close and the signs and tokens of their rank and order were visible to the men in the guard.  
  
-"Have we fared well, my captain?" -a cloaked man who guarded the door addressed the tallest, and seemingly, the leader of the company of rangers.  
  
-"Fortune smiled upon us today, friend!"   
  
Another outburst of yells and victories rang in the air, and the heavy door was opened, revealing the fair and fertile townlands beyond the Rammas Echor. The Sun shed its strong rays over the fields, casting a golden glow on the world around. In the distance, the White Tower gleamed brighter than ever, and to the weary spirits of the travelers, it shone like a torch in a starless night.  
  
Swift was the crossing of the Pelennor. The horns that answered their call beckoned to them, and the flags in the wall of the city greeted their coming. When the rangers arrived to the Great Gate, the iron door rolled back to let them in.  
  
The group entered the city, their steps followed by numberless sets of eyes who had gathered at the entrance. They made their way across the streets, and at their passing, whispers and hushings arose from every mouth; the townsfolk dared not, or knew not, whether to express pleasure at their arrival, or to fear for upcoming events.   
Life in Gondor had changed. The times of glory and conquest were long gone, and only legends now sang the praise of the White City. Yet men of Minas Tirith were brave, and did not give up. Long it was since the White Tree of Gondor had withered, yet the hearts of the men were steadfast and resolute in their courage to defend their homes and whatever hope was left; these days, hope had nearly faded.   
  
The column proceeded their way up, crossing through the gates that separated each level from the top. As they advanced, the White Tower of Ecthelion was more and more closer to view; the last remains of the glory of Minas Tirith shone in the Sun, the flags of the house of the Steward whirled in the wind; the Men of the Guard looked even more brave and tall.   
  
The steps of the rangers were carefully followed by the people who had started to leave their houses and everyday tasks to greet the new-comers. An air of reverence and respect surrounded these soldiers, and they were looked upon with a sort of pride and admiration; their graceful bearing and uplifted heads were suited to the demeanor of a ranger and a servant of Gondor, and it seemed as though the people looked at them all with pride and hope. Yet, a more observant eye could have noticed the way all looks and eyes were fixed on the figure of the man in front of the line of warriors.  
  
This soldier had a very pleasing countenance; he was tall and fair to look upon. He seemed to be content of being back; his air was light and relieved, as if a heavy burden had just been lifted from his shoulders, a burden he did not wish to carry. His eyes wandered about the streets, looking at the faces of those who had joined to bid them welcome. His gaze was momentarily blinded by the white glow issuing from the tower, and he drew a hand to his eyes, trying to shield the sun and secure his view of the place of his ancestors. The Tower of Ecthelion stood now very close to them, and in one of the battlements he distinguished the form of a young man, proud and fair, looking down to their company. A soft smile formed on this man's lips and he raised his right hand, his palm opened at the height of his face.  
  
'I salute thee, brother' -the captain of the rangers drew his hand to his heart and nodded. -'We meet again. We meet again.'  
  
  
A few trees sheltered the passing of the soldiers and so they made their way up the mountain, but at last they came out of the shadows and into the seventh gate. The Sun shone with warm and bright rays, and reflected a clear light upon the smooth surface of the walls and carved pillars. The captain was alone now, the rest of the company had followed their different directions; only five men remained behind, waiting for him to issue any command, or otherwise go with him and report their arrival.  
  
The captain looked back and smiled. He was a noble warrior, and his men looked up to him with great respect and admiration. The five rangers stood to alert, but at last he nodded, a sign that they should rest now. He dismounted, for no horses were allowed on the citadel, and removed the green hood that concealed his head. Just as he turned the reins of his horse to one of the attendants, he was startled by a firm and commanding voice that addressed him.  
  
-"Later than expected, Captain of the Rangers!" -the captain tilted his head,-"I realize now you cannot be trusted, not even for a mission with no peril at all!" -the voice changed with the last sentence and melted into playful teasing. The captain turned to meet the gaze of one he knew so well.  
  
-"We meet at last, Captain of the White Tower" -the ranger drew his right hand to his heart, but his face gave way to an ample smile that played with the solemnity of his former gesture.  
  
-"Well met, my brother! -the former and elder of the two extended his hand and placed it on his brother's shoulder, who in turn did the same. -"You almost look like a warrior dressed in those fine traveling clothes! I almost mistook you for a renowned captain!"  
  
-"I will disregard your last comment," -the ranger said in a humorous way,- "I see your long stay in the shelter of the city has already affected your eyesight, and your skills."  
  
-"HA! You get sharper every time, Faramir!" -he patted his brother's shoulder and laughed. -"I see the Captain of the Rangers has fared well on his campaign. Well done, brother."  
  
Faramir only nodded and smiled. He was glad to find his brother in such a good mood. The wind in the afternoon shuffled his hair and refreshed his spirit. The journey had been long and the mission a dangerous one, but back in the walls of the city hope seemed to find a place in his heart again. Faramir searched with his eyes every object around him, looking once more at the familiar places. It had not been long since he had left, but when a warrior leaves, he does not know whether he will return.  
  
-"Does the shadow lenghten?"  
  
His brother's jestful countenance suddenly changed into a grave and solemn air. Indeed they had felt the shadow of Mordor, ever growing and creeping deeper into their land. But the shadow increased every day, and keeping it at bay was becoming a harder and somewhat disheartening task; they did not win battles nor victories, all they won with every triumph was another opportunity of survival. Yet the men of Gondor fought with great courage and valor, and thus they had managed to keep the threat away.   
  
-"Yes, Boromir. The forces of evil only get stronger, nothing more." -Faramir's gaze wandered to the square of the citadel where a withered tree stood, the White Tree of Numenor, a memory of times past and an omen of events yet to come. -"You are right, the shadow lengthens. It needs be stopped. I fear something will happen, for our good or our fall, something will happen soon."  
  
-"Then your mission was harder than you had expected?"  
  
-"Not harder. Only," -Faramir looked to the tower. He was expected to report his arrival before the Steward and his guard; he knew it would not be an easy task, yet it needed be done. -"Only, more disheartening. I have looked at the shadow too close in the eye. It's power grows. It is a threat to our people. It must be stopped!" -Faramir's eyes wandered again to the tower.  
  
-"You do not have to go inside right this minute. Father has gone to inspect the companies guarding the lower end of the city, closer to Anduin," -he pointed to the direction of the river, -"He might not be back before nightfall."  
  
-"I see." -Faramir curled his lips and shrugged his shoulders. His report would have to wait for the arrival of lord Denethor. He motioned to the five men on his back and dismissed them. They all nodded and left.  
  
-"One other thing, Faramir," -Boromir grabbed his brother's shoulder once more, and looking him straight in the eye, continued, -"You might do well to avoid the library."  
  
-"The library?" -a puzzled look on his brother's countenance warned Boromir of his need to be more specific.  
  
-"A friend of your's has arrived. Try not to displease father, he has not been on a good mood of late, and Mithrandir's arrival is only a sign of bad things to come."  
  
-"Mithrandir! Do you mean to say Mithrandir has come!"  
  
-"He arrived only two days ago."  
  
-"This is some news indeed," -Faramir drew his hand to his chin, as if pondering about the knowledge he had just received. -"It has been long since he last came to Minas Tirith. I wonder what brings him back."  
  
-"I can barely remember the last time Mithrandir was here! Yes, it has been long. This is not a good omen; he only comes on rare occasions, and to warn about dreadful things. So has father taken it, and you would be wise to prevent confrontation of any kind."  
  
Faramir eyed his brother keenly. Their father did not approve of Faramir's friendship with the Grey Pilgrim, and did not have trouble showing his discomfort. But the youngest of Denethor's sons disagreed with his father, and this one point of conversation, however carefully avoided by both Faramir and Boromir, had been the subject of many a quarrel between father and son. This time, nonetheless, the Captain of the Rangers saw no need to pursue any further the matter of his befriending of Mithrandir, whom he thought a very wise man, and contented himself to only nod, leaving it for Boromir to decide whether he meant to follow his advice or to decline it.  
  
As Faramir turned around to seek for his own quarters, he heard a voice yell his name behind him.  
  
-"Faramir, where are you going now?"  
  
-"Please, Boromir!" -he answered, laughing, -"I am as tired as I've ever been! I am going to my chambers and then to take a bath!"  
  
-"Very well, then! I shall see you at dinner, I trust?"  
  
-"Until then, brother" -and with this, he left.  
  
  
  
Minas Tirith appeared to be calm. If there were dangers and threats outside the walls, they could not be felt inside he White City; yet not everything was right. All around him, Faramir encountered sober faces. Some lighted at the sight of him, and he was glad to nod at them; they surely had heard about the success of the mission and were hopeful for the sake of Gondor and their homes. But there was something more, an oppressing feeling, as if they were going to be crushed by a heavy weight. However, the city seemed to be perfectly peaceful. He felt the chirping of birds around him, and a few streets below he could hear the laughter of children, and the tender words of their mothers urging them to behave and be careful; the wind swayed the trees from one side to the other, and the leaves made a rustling sound that lingered a few moments before giving way to silence. 'Perhaps I am only tired. That must be it, yet...'  
  
A rippling sound came to his ears. The melody of the singing water bore to his heart and he walked toward the well-known fountain. The water was so clear and sweet; he kneeled and washed his face in the cold crystal liquid. His own reflection stared back from the mirror of the pool: his face was haggard and his eyes downcast. To his side, he was able to see the falling limbs of the withered tree cutting through his own image. He was awaken from his own thoughts by the sound of the horn; it came clear and steady announcing the passing of another hour. Day was drawing to a close and soon enough he would have to stand before the Steward to report his mission and findings. His eyes turned again to the shadow of the White Tower that fell over him now; its spell overcame him, and suddenly he found himself at the doors of the grand hall beneath it.  
  
As Faramir crossed the hallways into his own chamber, he encountered many soldiers and servants who looked at him with expectation and bewilderment. He found groups of townspeople talking and whispering, yet they all fell silent at the sight of him; he was still the Steward's Son, he should be respected. This was not something that he liked, but so tired was he to stop and explain, that he only smiled to them and went on.  
  
The doors to his chamber were already lighted by a few candles that hung from chandeliers that fell low at both sides. Faramir took one and entered his rooms. All his furniture and things had been left intact since his departure. He noticed clean clothes were carefully folded and placed on his bed.'Boromir must have been made aware of our coming by the guards of Rammas Echor.' He smiled as he removed the gauntlets that covered his hands, and grabbed one of the shirts placed there for him, when his eyes caught sight of a brown box lying on top of his desk. Faramir tilted his head and walked towards the strange object. The box was very regular in size; it was made of a series of narrow strips of wood joined together by a sort of glue, yet the most strange thing about it was its particular smell. 'What is this?' He sniffed it and removed the lid to reveal the contents. What he beheld was both strange and unexpected.  
  
Inside the box was a little bag containing a few leaves of a rare plant, some others were crushed into small pieces. The scent was very pleasing, and after a while Faramir recognized it as sweet galenas, an herb highly esteemed among his kinsmen for the fragrance of its flowers, yet why it was placed in his room remained a mystery to him. He put it back on his desk but could not keep his eyes from it. The aroma issuing from this box filled his room; at times he felt it reminded him of the green vales of Anduin, but sometimes the scent was so strong that turned unbearable.   
  
Suddenly, the young captain arched his brow and narrowed his eyes. A faint smile appeared on his lips, and it grew until it became an ample grin. His eyes sparkled with mirth, and in a quick gesture he grabbed the box with a hand, with the other opened the door that led out of his chamber and in swift strides he disappeared through the hallways.  
  
  
In one of the many rooms of the tower, Faramir found what he sought. An old man was leaning in front of a table, half hidden by piles of old books and scrolls. His eyes seemed bent in studying one of the documents, and the great care he excercised in reading it was indeed tiring. The son of Denethor grinned. The old man looked just as he remembered him from olden days. His long beard and bristling eyebrows had always amazed Faramir, but he respected him and admired his wisdom and knowledge. 'So he is indeed come. I wonder what has brought him this time.'  
  
-"Aha! I see this settles our debate!"   
  
The wizard jumped up in his seat and turned around, searching for the cause of this disturbance. In his eagerness, Faramir had forgotten his age and rank and screamed at Mithrandir as if he were still the child from days back.  
  
-"Indeed," -the wizard turned and eyed him with keen interest. His lips curled into a kind smile, and his eyes sparkled.   
  
The captain of the rangers walked closer into the light. The grey eyes shone with mirth and a smile played on his lips even though the wizard observed he took great pains to remain serious.   
  
-"I see you have found my little present, young Faramir." -Gandalf spoke with his pipe still on his mouth, and the sounds of his voice came unclear. This made the captain chuckle.  
  
-"So I have, Mithrandir. So I have." -He placed the box in front of the wizard, who opened it and took a handful to refill his own pipe, all the while his stare fixed on his younger companion.   
  
-"Will this suffice, then, or should I enlighten your mind a little more on the subject?"  
  
-"I suppose this will do, Sir. This was very keen on your part." -The wizard only grinned at Faramir's words.  
  
For a while they both stood silent regarding each other. The room was very dark, except around the inmediate person of the wizard. Several books were opened and scattered around the table, as if he had been studying and comparing the different texts, and the scroll in front of him now appeared to very very old and worn out. It had a brownish dust all over it, and the edges were burnt and torn. Faramir observed the books with interest and curiosity; everything around Mithrandir was very mysterious and sometimes without explanation or sense, yet he trusted the wizard, and admired his wisdom and knowledge.   
  
-"You have changed, Son of Denethor. I can hardly see the boy you used to be in front of me now. How does time fly!"  
  
-"So it does. But it has been long since you crossed the Seven Gates into the White Tower. Perhaps that is why you notice the change now, or is it something else?"  
  
-"Perhaps." Mithrandir was a man of many riddles, and this time it seemed he preferred not to discuss any deeper subjects. However, he was very intent in observing the younger of the sons of the steward. Faramir was indeed changed, as he had observed. He had grown into a strong, brave warrior. His countenance was pleasing, and he recognized in his eyes much of the kind, curious, lively young boy he had once known. This sight pleased the wizard. He had always thought Faramir very wise, even far beyond his years, and very keen; in this, at least, he ressembled his father.  
  
-"I hear you have been on an important mission. I trust you have fared well."  
  
-"Thank the Valar, we have." -The Captain of the Rangers sighed. Mithrandir could sense the concern and distress behind his words.  
  
-"It has been harder than you expected, has it not?"  
  
Faramir eyed him with great interest. It had always impressed him how the Grey Pilgrim could read people's hearts with such ease and precision; he was right yet again.  
  
-"Indeed. I had never thought... never imagined how much hold the shadow had taken among our own lands! They sense it, the men of the city," -he lowered his eyes and his voice wavered, -"but they are not really aware, they do not measure yet the power of evil. It increases!" -and his fist hit the table in an outburst of anger. Then, as if recalling himself, he strode away. -"It increases with the day. Something needs be done... and it needs be done fast!"  
  
-"I see your concern, Faramir. Things have changed in the world, even beyond what you feel or think." -Mithrandir's eyes glimmered.-"Have you spoken to your father?"  
  
-"No" -Faramir said in a low voice. -"Not yet. He has gone away to inspect the armies near Anduin. He will be back before long and I will have leave to make my report. He will not like what he is about to hear, I suspect; but hear it he must, even though unpleasant."  
  
-"Your father is a shrewd man, young one. He might know of this already."  
  
-"If he does, why does he not take action? The threat is pressing, I feel. But it is not yet upon us." -Faramir drew a chair and positioning it beside the wizard's own, sat in a commanding manner. -"It is all very strange, Mithrandir. One can think everything is well. The Sun shines and the wind blows, and the city is safe. But outside, there is something in the air... a presence. We were faced with forces who had increased in power, drawing ever nearer into our land. We did not expect their strength. Yet this is not what I talk about. There is... something else."  
  
Gandalf regarded the young ranger with a stern look. Out of his mouth, ringlets of smoke came in a steady fashion. His manner remained unaltered, except for the intense flickering of his black eyes, more alive than they had been in a long time.  
  
-"As I have said, the world has changed. Remember this. I doubt things will ever be the same again, although I wish they were."  
  
-"Have you felt this, too?" -the man's face lighted with surprise, but as suddenly, his expression changed into one of deep concern and worry. If the wizard felt the same way as he did, then there was something of truth in his perceptions; he had hoped they were nothing. He fancied the wizard's hand shook slightly as he held his pipe on his mouth. The captain's curiousity and eagerness was growing increasingly; he had to risk asking the question.  
  
-"Is this what has brought you here?"  
  
Gandalf drew the pipe out of his mouth in a swift motion and blew a thick cloud of grey smoke. The young man's boldness surprised him; he had been too forward in his inquiry. For a moment, the wizard only stared at him with burning eyes. Then, as solemnly as always, he lifted his pipe to his mouth again.  
  
-"I would tell you not to meddle in a wizard's business, but I see it might be late for that. Why do you wish to know the purpose of my coming?"  
  
-"I do not mean to intrude in your businesses. But you know," -the captain hesitated, -"your coming is always a matter of speculation among townsfolk; your visits are so... seldom. You might have heard they think your comings are an omen of bad tidings."  
  
-"And, what do YOU think?"  
  
-"I know better than to believe in that kind of superstitions. I know that your person is not an omen, but perhaps the causes that hasten a visit are pressing enough to be regarded as bad tidings. There is something the matter, otherwise, you would not have come. Yet I wish to think that is not the only cause that brings you hither."  
  
-"Your father and brother do not seem to think so, young one."  
  
-"My brother, Boromir, allows himself to be led by my father quite often."  
  
-"And," -the wizard regarded him with keen eyes and curled lips, -"you?"  
  
-"I have always tried to do what I think best. I grant reason when reason is due, but when I am in the right, I do not yield."  
  
-"And I guess that has brought you trouble."  
  
Faramir sighed, and smiled. It surprised him to see how much Mithrandir could read from his attitude.  
  
-"If I am likely to get into trouble anyway, let it be by standing for what I believe."  
  
The wizard laughed, and put a hand in the captain's shoulder.   
  
-"My boy, there is still much for you to learn, but I see you are on the right track. Sacrifices must sometimes be made, if it is for the greater good. Always do what you think is right, and all other things will work for the best."- Faramir smiled and nodded. He was, indeed, very fond of Mithrandir, and many a time this regard had been worth a reprimand from his father; but he knew better than to forsake his friendship over such a thing.   
  
-"Now, tell me, Faramir," -the wizard said, as he rolled the scroll he had been reading and reached for something else. -"What kind of army did you encounter? I know there might not be much you can tell me before you report to Lord Denethor, but I see something has distressed you."  
  
-"It was the usual. We found a rather large army of Orcs. It did seem quite large to me, and they appeared to have become stronger; or it might have been that my men were tired from dwelling in the desert too long. They gave us a hard time, and I lost many." -Faramir's eyes darkened, and he lowered his head.  
  
-"Such things are bound to happen, young one, and before the end comes we will see many more that we do not yet imagine."   
  
-"The end?" -the captain lifted his head to meet the wizard's eye, -"What is the meaning of your words? Is the end drawing near?" -Faramir narrowed his gaze and tilted his head; he fancied he already knew the reason for Mithrandir's coming.  
  
-"Everything that has a beginning, will most likely have an end, my dear Faramir, or at least for human understanding. Tell me, how far did this mission take you from Minas Tirith?"  
  
-"We crossed Anduin in a straight line from the city, and came about half way to the Ephel Duath. Why do you wish to..."  
  
-"And, tell me. Did you see anything remarkable, did you noticed anything out of the ordinary? I mean, beside the increased strength of the fell army."  
  
-"I do not see the purpose of your questioning, Mithrandir, but if you must know, yes, I did notice something that had not caught my fancy before."  
  
Faramir stopped, as if considering the words he had last spoken. Indeed, he remembered to have been impressed beyond the usual sometime during his absence, but had dismissed it as unimportant. Yet, now, after being questioned by the Grey Pilgrim, he remembered quite clearly what it was that had had this effect on him. He paused and wavered, taking his hand to his chin, and with an absent look in his eyes.  
  
-"What was it?" -the wizard interrupted in a rather abrupt manner. It was not like him to lose his temper.  
  
-"One morning, as I rose, I walked outside the tent to take a survey of the men and the state of the weaponry. I looked ahead and noticed a dark cloud darkening the horizon, to the east of our camp. I walked closer, only out of habit, I knew it would not give me a better look, but I was quite impressed. The Sun shone bright, and it did not seem likely to rain. I waited, and after a while, a familiar smell came and told me about the nature of this cloud. It was smoke."  
  
-"Smoke?" -inquired the wizard, who had now put aside his pipe.  
  
-"Indeed. I think it rose from Orodruin. Not in all my years have I seen smoke coming out of the Dark Mountain."  
  
Gandalf remained silent for a while, and turned his eyes to fix them upon the piece of parchment in front of him. It was a map, a carefully, and very detailed, outlined representation of the land of Gondor, and its borders on every side.   
  
-"What do you think about this?"  
  
-"I think, as I have said before, that things are changing. Will you report this to Denethor?"  
  
-"I had not thought of doing so before, but I had not regarded the incident as anything more than a trick of nature. Do you suppose I should tell him?"  
  
-"I believe it is likely that he knows of this by now, young Faramir, but you might do as you choose." -He grabbed one of the books out of the pile to his left, and put it in front of Faramir. Pointing with his finger, he read the title aloud. -"'Chronicles and Annals of the House of the Steward.'" -and below it, written in a smaller hand, he read, -" 'The Heirs of Mardil, the Steward of the White City of Minas Tirith.' Do you not recall to have read a similar volume, only with the Chronicles of the Battles fought in Minas Tirith? I remember to have seen it before, it was a companion to the one in front of you."  
  
-"I think I do, Sir, but vaguely. If it was a companion to this one, it should be right beside it, in the place you found it. Why are you interested in finding the volume again?"  
  
-"I have looked for it, but it is nowhere to be found. At least nowhere around here. Do you know of another place where I may look for it?"  
  
-"It is a wonder that Denethor has already let you come inside the library. I could help, but it depends on what you are looking for. Are you researching a particular battle, or would you like a historical timeline?"  
  
-"I want to see the book," -the wizard said with glimmering eyes and bristling brows.  
  
-"I will try to help you, but I promise nothing. I might be able to find it for you." -Faramir's stare remained fixed on the wizard. 'Just as before, he will question but say nothing. I wonder what Mithrandir trully looks for.' The young captain wondered, and had always wondered, about the Pilgrim's questioning and interests, but he was too reserved, and the Son of Denethor too polite to venture a comment, at least not this time. He only nodded and leaned back on his chair.  
  
-"Very well, then. Do not trouble yourself with what has not yet come to pass. You have important matters ahead of you tonight. I trust all will be well for you." -Gandalf only nodded, and took another blow of his pipe. -"So, what do you think of my present, Son of Denethor?" -the wizard's tone changed with ease, and Faramir fancied Mithrandir was glad to shift their conversation into more trivial matters. -"I managed to bring with me a proof of my reflections back then. I hope it is satisfactory for you," -he arched an eyebrow, and chuckled with mirth.  
  
-"Oh, it is, Mithrandir, it is! I could not have asked for a better illustration on your point. I only wonder that you remember that; it seems to have been an age ago." -The captain lowered his eyes and smiled in his usual way. His eyes sparkled. Just then, they heard the clear sound of the horn six times. Dusk was falling over the White City, and the Lord Denethor would stand at the throne to hear audience. It was Faramir's time to leave. He grabbed the box on top of the table, and stood.  
  
-"It has been a pleasure to have you back." -He nodded, -"Until our next meeting."  
  
-"Until our next meeting, noble one."  
  
As Faramir strode away, Gandalf drew his pipe to his mouth again, and smiled. It pleased him to see the Son of Denethor again. 'So, the boy has become a man. I wonder what fate holds for this young Lord in the future.' His head tilted and his lips relaxed into a grin when he thought about a day so long ago.  
  
* -"I tell you, Sweet Galenas is a medicine plant. I have seen the healers use it before!" -the young boy said as he clenched his fists. He had been trying for quite a while to convince the pilgrim of the reasons to consider his argument valid.  
  
-"My young Faramir, I agree that Sweet Galenas is a medicine plant. Indeed, it has many properties, and is highly regarded by most folk; but it has other uses that are unkown to you at this moment, and perhaps unknown to the men of Minas Tirith."  
  
-"I am sorry, Sir Mithrandir, but I tell you that Sweet Galenas is used for medicine, and for medicine alone. They have used it on me as well, and a very sweet smell it is, and of a soothing effect."  
  
-"I am not saying otherwise, but I am right when I tell you that it has other uses, and as many others as there are people in Middle-Earth. I can name you one other use or property of this weed, that you might not believe, but could easily regard."  
  
-"And what might that be?" -asked the grey-eyed boy.  
  
-"Pipe-weed."  
  
-"Pipe-weed?" -the boy inquired with an open mouth and sparkling eyes. -"What is Pipe-weed?"  
  
-"Pipe-weed is an herb you burn in order to smoke. And there are so many varieties of Pipe-weed, and it is even more appreciated for this one use alone among other folk, than it might be for all the healing properties it is regarded in Minas Tirith. I tell you, young Faramir, that Pipe-weed is a treasure among other races, and you should keep your mind open to learning this new bits of information."  
  
-"Forgive me, Mithrandir, but I do not see it." -He scratched his head, and curled his lips,   
-"How would it be that people regard this herb as a treasure? It does not look clever, and I will never understand it. I think you might be misinformed."  
  
-"Misinformed? You dare to call the Grey Pilgrim misinformed?"  
  
-"Only when it concerns Pipe-weed, Sir!"  
  
The wizard laughed as hard as his lungs would allow. 'Poor Faramir, let him think he is in the right for now. One day, when he learns the truth, he will be highly amused.'*  
  
And the day for him to be amused had finally come. Mithrandir took his eyes away from the now distant figure of Faramir, and fixed them on the opened book. 'We shall see what fate has in store for us. There might be many dealings ahead for us before long.' And with a blow of his pipe, he resumed his reading.  
  
  
Author's notes: Here is chapter one. What do you think about it? I would appreciate your ideas and comments about this story. This is a very interesting subject to me, but also a bit hard to research, since one often pays more attention to the elves when reading Tolkien's work. Please, please, please, drop me a line or two and review with your comments, it really makes my day ;) 


End file.
